


A Lannister never gives up

by ChocoNut



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: A fast-track rom-com, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, But in a Canon setup, F/M, Fluff, Mild Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:33:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28150938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocoNut/pseuds/ChocoNut
Summary: When Jaime meets Brienne, love’s never the same again.ORThe one where Jaime runs into Brienne when he goes out hunting one morning. And the rest, as they say, is history.ORThe one where canon never happened.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 18
Kudos: 87





	A Lannister never gives up

**Author's Note:**

> This could've begun anytime before 1x1- the setting around this is pretty vague.

Out of nowhere, the intruder lands in front of him.

It takes just that—a well-timed distraction for the deer to bolt away and take cover. Pissed off, Jaime glares at the figure on the horse, keen to find out who the hell dared disrupt his sport.

“Show yourself,” he bellows, taking in the tall, well-built man who appears to have no business here at this hour except to provoke him, itching to show him his place for not only crossing paths with one of the renowned knights in the kingdom, but having the balls to gallop around with his head held high even after the damage is done.

The stranger obliges, pulls out his helmet—

“You’re a woman,” Jaime gasps, the face he’s facing quite unlike any other of her sex. Should she keep her mouth shut, she might very well be easily mistaken for a man—not a decently sculpted one, though.

“And you’re cruel,” she barks, her eyes burning him down. Clearly, she hasn’t recognized him else she wouldn’t be pelting him with words like these. “Attempting to shoot down a poor innocent beast is no show of your skills nor a proof of your superior position. You should be—”

“Who are you, my lady?” Despite his irritation, he’s intrigued. Despite the dented nose, the overly-large lips, the excessive smattering of freckles on that homely face, those eyes keep him tied to them, restrain him to stick around her and make small talk.

“I’m no lady.”

The way she says it brings him to a smile. “Quite right. No lady would wander the woods interfering with those who choose to pursue a joyous sport on a merry morning.”

“Hunting’s no sport—”

“You sport a sword,” he observes, glancing down at the weapon clinging to her thick waist. “It isn’t to chop vegetables, is it? You must have taken some poor creature's life, surely.”

“I don’t hunt for enjoyment.” Her jaw tightens. “My blade hasn’t taken an innocent life.”

“What does it do then? Just sit away, decorating your—”

“I have no time for such insolence,” she cuts him, gathering the reins again.

“And I’m not used to being spoken to like this.” But he’s far from enraged now. There’s something about this woman that makes him want to _accidentally_ run into her again, to do more than just spar with words, to—

“You think you’re some—” her nose crinkles, she pauses, scooping up the words she can gather “—some sort of—” Chin up, her head held high, she looks him over from top to toe. “Who the hell are you?”

“Ser Jaime Lannister,” he announces himself, disappointed when there’s the usual flash of distaste on her face his name invites. “And you, my lady?” When she hesitates, he adds, “A poor old hunter like me has the right to know the identity of the one who lay waste to my efforts.”

“Brienne of Tarth,” she reluctantly reveals.

“Well—” he bows slightly “—I hope I see you again, Brienne of Tarth.”

She recoils at the prospect. “I truly hope not.”

+++++ 

Many trips he makes to the woods after the chance encounter that morning, and while the pretext is to hunt, the actual reason is the growing restlessness within him.

“It’s no good if you just wander around listlessly in the hope that she might turn up,” Bronn jumps in with his unsolicited advice. “She doesn’t approve of you—if I were you, I’d make an effort to find her and woo her instead of—”

“Oh, enough of it.” Jaime scowls at his companion. “I’m not thinking about her.”

Bronn questions him with a crooked smile. “Like you _never_ think about her night and day? Like you aren’t haunted by her presence in your mind. You’ve been struck deep down, Lannister—” he places his sword-tip at Jaime’s heart. “And from where I stand, it’s pretty bad.”

Jaime feels the blood rush to his face at this confrontation. “I just came here to—” He looks around helplessly.

“To take a ride in this greenery with your dearest friend?”

“A little fresh air’s good for the heart,” Jaime lies defiantly. “And you aren’t my dearest friend—”

“You know what’s good for the heart?” Bronn’s eyes reflect the wicked thoughts running through his filthy mind. “A good fuck. You and that woman you can’t get out of your head—”

“My heart’s taken,” Jaime protests again. “Cersei and I—” 

“Is that why we come here every morning? Instead of spending time with the woman you _love_ , you just—” Bronn shakes his head “—just ride around the same path over and over again, your eyes wandering here and there in search of—” 

The sound of hooves save him from his friend’s outburst, and hope floating up his chest again, Jaime waits, lingers around for their visitor to come closer.

“My lady,” he greets her, soaking in the brilliance of those eyes when she approaches them.

“Ser Jaime,” she acknowledges, then looks around suspiciously. “Where’s your game?”

Jaime smiles. “I’m done with hunting.” When she’s still unbelieving and quiet, he says, “Someone once told me that attempting to shoot down a poor innocent beast is no show of my skills nor a proof of my superior position.”

Her lips part, and just as he prepares himself to fight back at her impending argument, they fall shut again.

“Have you nothing at all to say to that, my lady?”

She rocks back and forth, then grabs the reins. “I must leave.”

“But you just arrived,” he complains, disappointed. “Why don’t we ride together, spend some time in this lovely weather—”

“Not interested.”

“That sword—” Desire, unbidden and unstoppable, stirs in his groin when he pictures what it might be like to overpower her, fling her down, devour those full lips— .

“What of it?”

“Does it ever get to serve its purpose?” he asks, grasping at the only excuse he can think of to see her again.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m a swordsman, too.” His fingers caress the pommel on his waist. “We could—work on our skills together?” 

Brienne occupies herself with her horse. “Not interested.” 

“Oh, you are,” he tempts her, hoping for her to fall to the bait. “There’s this place not far from the castle, overlooking the Blackwater bay. If you happen to wander there by chance soon after dawn, you’d find me there.” He presses his fingers to the golden lion. “And my sword.”

She turns, starts to gallop away. “Not interested.”

+++++

“Oh, you’re good,” he pants, when for the second time, she has him cornered. Such agility, such a skilled combination of attack and defense, he has come across only in the likes of accomplished knights with years of practice and immense battle experience. “You need to improve on your—”

Before he can finish, Brienne lunges into him with all she has, and before he can take the next breath, she has him pressed up against the wall, her body pressed into his. “Yield,” she grunts, her face so close that he’s tempted to reach out and suck away the droplets of sweat bordering her lips like a string of jewels. Her eyes are alight with a fire he hasn’t seen in them before, her ferocity more sensual than intimidating. A pounding need arises in him when he pictures her wriggling under him unclothed, her hips jerking into him at every thrust, his kisses drawing out moans that drown in his mouth— 

“I said, yield.”

His eyes drop to her chest, to what he might uncover beneath that shirt, and when his open stares don’t go unnoticed, a heated blush paints her freckles pink. “Ser Jaime,” she says in hushed tones, “what are you looking at—” 

He can feel her tense, then slacken her grip on him, and it is this moment he’s been looking for. Before she can fathom what’s happening, he gives it back to her at lightning speed. Mustering all the force he can gather, he shoves her away from him, and when she stumbles, caught unawares, he wraps an arm around her and turns her around, his fingers tightly wrapped around her sword-wrist, his chest pushing into her heaving bosom.

“Yield,” he whispers, and his loins spring to life.

“You cheated,” she complains, her blush deepening. “Now let go of me—”

“On one condition. There’s a feast at the keep tomorrow. All lords and ladies in the capital are invited. And—” a flicker of doubt and panic hits him, springing up second thoughts about Bronn’s plan “—I hope you’d do me the honour of joining, my lady.”

“I’m no la—”

He lets go of her, steps back. “I’ll be waiting.”

Brienne straightens her shirt. “Not interested.”

+++++

“You’re distracted.”

Cersei’s astute observation doubles his frustration, and he tears his eyes off the entrance. A blunt, _‘not interested’_ Brienne had flung at him before charging out of there, but Jaime had thought then that this was just a maiden’s coyness, that she—

“Who do your restless eyes seek, Jaime?”

“No one,” he lies, and slips away from there. His sister’s questioning is the last thing he needs now. One less trouble, he could do with.

“I told you she won’t come,” he whines to Bronn when all the others are out of earshot. “She told me she’s not interested—”

“Oh, she is,” Bronn steps up with his usual smug confidence. “And she _will_ come—” 

As if the gods had heard him, there she is, awkward and ungainly, yet, with something about her that feels pleasantly refreshing in comparison to the maidens vying for his attention.

Wasting no time, he makes haste to escort her in. “My lady—” he takes her hand, bestows on her the chivalry a lady deserves. “I thought—”

He halts when he notices her roaming eyes, finds out that her attention is held by another.

“Lord Renly’s here, too?” she asks, her voice girlish and breathless.

“Yes.” Something breaks inside him, something that has been building up over the days, only to be destroyed by one name and one man. “Do you know him?”

“We’ve met once,” she vaguely answers, and Jaime can make out there’s more to it than that.

“Do you fancy him?”

With this, he manages to snatch her away from Renly, and those wide blue eyes return to him. “You can’t surely be asking me that.”

“Are you interested in him or not?”

“I—” She pats down her dress, wipes her hand nervously. “No.”

“Prove it.” Jaime holds out his hand. “Stop thinking about him and dance with me.” 

“You can’t possibly—”

“Well, I am—” he waits “—go on, take my hand.”

And she does.

+++++ 

“Who is she, Jaime?”

The deep voice and the bluntness of the question draws him out of his melancholy. “No one.”

His father puts down his quill and rests his elbows on the desk. “You know you can’t lie to me.”

“Lord Selwyn’s daughter,” he sighs. 

“I must admit I never expected something like this to happen.” His father gets up, makes it to his side. “I can’t believe you chose this girl when you could’ve had the beautiful Margaery Tyrell or anyone else befitting your beauty and title—”

“Father—” 

“But what am I to do if your heart’s set on her?” With a look of resignation, he leans back on the table. “Better her than—” _Cersei,_ he means, but cannot bring himself to say the name. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Jaime says, dejected. “It looks like she’s in love with someone else.”

His father’s far from bothered about this. “Have you asked her that in plain words?”

“Yes—”

“And has she given you a direct answer?”

“No, but I could make out—” 

“Have you told her how you feel about her?”

“No, but—” 

“Tell me how you met her.”

Jaime narrates all of it, starting with their first meeting and how she’d gloriously ruined his hunting, chiding him for his lack of compassion. He lays out how he’d proposed they train together, detailing the countless mornings he’s spent dueling with her, revealing that he’d planned the feast in the hope he could use that as an opportunity to get closer to her. 

“Brienne’s never going to fall for a man like me,” he concludes with a lament, her _not interested_ returning to haunt him. 

Their first dance, and every dance that night had been a courtesy, a formality, an alternative to Renly’s indifference, and no more than that. Every single day after the feast, he’d diligently made it for practice every morning, but there was no sign of her. He’d even tried to seek her out at the inn—a guest in King’s Landing, he knew that’s where he’d find her, but all the innkeep had for him was that she wished to be away from guests. 

Her withdrawing into a shell like this is strong enough a message for him. “She’s not interested, father.”

“Hmm.” The all-perceiving and cunning Tywin Lannister mulls over what he’s heard, ponders for a good number of seconds over this tale of how his son had loved and had to let go. “How about a hunting trip tomorrow to cheer you up, Jaime?”

Another crushing disappointment is that last thing he’s up for. “Father, she won’t come—”

“A Lannister never gives up, son.” Despite the darkness of gloom in him, the words sound reassuring, encouraging. “So go find your bride. And don’t you even think of coming back home without her.”

+++++

When he makes it to their usual spot, she’s already there.

She alights from her horse, and he does the same. She takes one step forward, and when he takes two, he notices a four-folded piece of parchment in her hand.

“Lady Brienne.” 

As they walk towards each other, Jaime wonders why she’s suddenly decided to come out of her hiding. The answer, he’s beginning to strongly feel, might somehow lie in the letter or whatever it is she’s armed with, that it might have a good deal to do with her reappearance in his life. 

When she’s close enough for him to peer deep into her eyes, he’s caught in the storm swirling in them. “Ser Jaime—” she sounds odd—like she’s been struck with a strong head-cold “—I never thought you’d write me this, never expected something like—that you—”

She stops talking, looks down fondly at the mysterious note.

At that very moment, a spark of enlightenment hits him, telling him what the contents of the letter might be. “Brienne, I—”

“I do, too,” she whispers, her eyes brimming with all that she’s been holding back. “At first, I thought you were interested—” she cuts away, unable to finish. “But when I looked around when we were dancing and realized you can have any woman you want, I doubted myself, I was beginning to wonder if I might have mis-read your intentions, misunderstood—”

“It’s not _any_ woman that I want,” he stops her. “I danced with no one but you that night. But you broke my heart when you disappeared after the feast. I thought you walked out of my life because you still loved Renly.”

“I already told you I’m not interested in Renly.”

“Well—” He steps closer, reaches for her hand and caresses the crumpled parchment she’s holding. “Father forbids me from returning home without my bride. What do you propose I should do?”

Her eyes, when she smiles, are brighter than the sun, the warmth in them enough to keep him comfortable for all the cold nights he might encounter. “You must do as he wishes,” she says, as coyly as any maiden would.

As their eyes exchange silent vows, as they, at last, allow themselves to dream of a beautiful future, a curiosity lingers at the back of his mind, an urge to find out what the letter bears. But that can wait until later. What he cannot hold back, however, is the sweet temptation of her lips.

With a silent thanks to his father, he leans in to kiss her, to show her he means every word of whatever is in that note.

**Author's Note:**

> A crazy outcome of my restless mind - thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed it :)


End file.
